


The Rooster Will Not Crow

by dashielldeveron



Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), tom holland - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Handcuffs, Kinky, Lawyer!reader - Freeform, Like, Mob AU, Pining, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, Violence, but - Freeform, but in an emotionally constipated way, but who's counting, fistfights, fistfights in handcuffs, lawyer reader, mob!tom, mob!tom holland, more like consigliere, swears, you don't want to admit it at all, you push everything down, you say you have other motives, you thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 22:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashielldeveron/pseuds/dashielldeveron
Summary: Mob!Tom Holland Soulmate AU in which you feel the other's pain. Other soulmate marks, like tattoos and red strings, still exist, but you lucked out.If you were going to die tonight at the hands of your smokin' hot boss, you were at least going to go down with grace and charm.





	The Rooster Will Not Crow

If Harrison kept you pinned against the wall any longer, you would have the wood grain impressed on your cheek whenever you met your fate. The cold barrel of his .38 dug into your lower back where your shirt had ridden up, and he kept most of his weight against you, his free hand firm on the wall near your face.

 

The door muffled Tom’s words, but you still winced when he started to shout.

 

Haz had started to relax by now, the pressure relenting slightly, but you didn’t move. Not like you could do anything drastic—the only way the handcuffs would let you move your hands was up, and when you’d knock against the gun, he’d pull the trigger.

 

He shifted his hand on the wall, and his sleeve inched down his wrist, on which was the outline of a heart.

 

You pried your mouth from the wall. “Haven’t met your soulmate, then, have you?”

 

“It’s none of your business anymore,” said Harrison as he jabbed the gun harder into your back.

 

“Would you have answered had I asked six hours ago?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Through the door—a crunch, a _you devilish bastard_ , and a gunshot—and a pause before something hit the floor. Great. How to cover up this one? If the lads throw the body in the river again, you’re going to chop someone’s fingers off. _No_ , you absolute idiot. You scrunch your eyes shut. You won’t have to worry about that anymore. Better start thinking about your own corpse.

 

You were smirking over the fact that they might actually get found out for your murder, since you wouldn’t be there to cover it legally, when Magaddino edged open the door with his foot and heaved the body through it. Harrison shoved you harder against the wall to make room, but you caught a glimpse of the corpse as it passed. The bullet wound lay just below his jawline to let blood gush down his neck to stain his white shirt. Unusual location, but Tom had been trying to get this man for months now; he had been recruiting for his own gang to take over one of the boroughs Tom had already claimed. Tom must have wanted to get close to see the light leave this one’s eyes.

 

(It made you uneasy when he did that, but you would linger in the back behind his desk, keeping your focus on loading the mezzanine of another gun. It would happen when the interrogation went on for so long that the cigarette smoke slipped through the vents to leave a cold, crisp air and a twitch to Tom’s lips. He’d quiet and take off his suit coat before leaning close to his quarry, right in front of his ear, and hissing an ultimatum whilst sliding the barrel into the man’s mouth.)

 

Harrison pulled you inside and slid your handcuffed arms over the back of the chair last occupied by a dead man. You couldn’t move your arms in the slightest without Haz or Tom catching you, so you leant your head back until you popped your neck in the silence.

 

Tom struck a match and bent to light a fresh cigarette, his cheeks hollowing out as his lips pursed. His coat was slung over his desk, and he, scowling, held the cigarette between his teeth as he rolled his sleeves to his elbows. He wouldn’t look at you. Probably for the best.

 

“Harrison,” he said, breaking the quiet, “Keep a gun aimed at the back of her head. Three paces.”

 

Tom scrunched his eyes shut until he heard the gun click, and he finally faced you. “You’ve seen the best and worst case scenarios for those who sit in that chair. Make your decision for what you’re going to be.”

 

You pulled on the handcuffs—wouldn’t give, and starting to leave red marks around your wrists.

 

“When did you start working for Fletcher?”

 

If Tom were standing any closer, you could kick him. “Four months ago, after you began buying votes for Adams.”

 

“Reason?”

 

“Just gave it to you.”

 

Tom took the cigarette out of his mouth and waved the smoke away from his face, glaring down at you with dark eyes. “Give me details.”

 

“Fletcher’s going to think for himself once he’s elected, not take every order like a puppet. He’s idealistic and capable, and he’s what the city needs,” you said, tilting your chin up at him, “Your man Adams is spineless and going to sit like a rock when you govern through him. I can’t allow that.”

 

“Tell me why.”

 

“Get fucked.”

 

Tom narrowed his eyes, his right hand automatically going to his holster, but he withdrew. His knuckles clenched white around his cigarette. “Two paces, Haz,” he said, and the floor creaked under Harrison’s weight as he stepped closer. “Again. Tell me why.”

 

Might as well. But Tom’s genuinely interested, you can tell, because usually, the first curse directed at Tom gets the top of an ear sliced off. “I’m tired of government corruption,” you said with venom, “I’m trying to do some _good_ in the world. The system’s fine, but the people running it are people like you, only in it for money or power. Not really caring about the people they’re ‘sposed to be taking care of. Fletcher’s just the first step in a purge.”

 

“That you head?” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _God_. Knew I shouldn’t’ve hired someone barely out of law school.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “The fuck did you think you’d accomplish? Thought you’d save the world? You’re naïve as fuck, darling, and no so-called proper gov’s going to fix anything wrong with us.”

 

“One thing I did think of,” you said, the slight suggestion of a grin on your face, “is how airtight the contracts are for Jacob and Sam.”

 

“ _Fucking_ —that was you?” He clamped his jaw shut, and it twitched. “You were working with me throughout that whole process, trying to find a way out! Fletcher was moving in with no way to stop— _fuck,_ and now they’re sentenced to—”

 

“You’ve seen how thorough my work is.” You managed a shrug, but Harrison moved as you did so. “Thought you would’ve recognised it.”

 

Tom ran a hand through his hair, prying it out of its heavily gelled side part. “Harrison,” he said, “Break her nose.”

 

Harrison hesitated.

 

(His reason was that throughout all your time in the mob, no one ever touched you. No one. Tom made sure of that. From the beginning, Tom made it clear that you were here for your legal prowess, not for the physical impulses of his men. You were to be treated completely, wholly, as an equal to his current lawyer, and as you showed how meticulous you were in your work, as Harrison forgot the home phone numbers of local police, as Jacob went out in public without being pursued, as Tom slit three throats in the bathroom of the most popular restaurant in the city without anyone hearing a word about it, you ascended the ranks until you had the same level of approval as Harrison. While Haz was the underboss, you were Tom’s consigliere. Nobody stood above you in Tom’s eyes, and for that, no one touched Tom. You made sure of that.

 

One of sole times you ever touched him had been during a meeting with some lousy capos from across the borough, and Tom had been furious, overreacting like hell, pulling hair with fumes coming out of his ears. He had been making everyone miserable, and he had needed to work with these men, not act like the uncompromising bastard he was being.

 

“Friends,” you had said, “if you’ll pardon Mr. Holland and me, we’ll return once you’ve reached an agreement.”

 

With that, you had grabbed Tom by the crook of his elbow and had dragged him down the corridors to the eerie, most isolated bathroom in the place. “Listen, Tom,” you had said, shoving him against the wall as you’d gripped his lapels, your forearms against his chest, “You’re pissing everyone off. You’re pissing me off. I don’t know exactly what’s happening to you to make you act this way, but I’ve had it with you and your pent-up emotions. You need a release. You’re going into the bathroom, and you’re either going to cry or wank off, and we’re not going back to the meeting until you do it. Understand?”

 

Almost absentmindedly, Tom’s hands had come to rest lightly on your waist, but he had still been grimacing. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

 

You had shaken your head. “I’m here to ensure no one bothers you. Go in there, and choose.”

 

When Tom had come out, he had calmed down and had offered his hand to you as thanks. Biting your lip to hide a smile, you had refused.

 

You had made Tom laugh.)

 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Tom said, leaning against his desk before taking a long drag from his cigarette, “Harrison.”

 

Harrison tore his gaze from Tom and blinked once before punching you, his fist connecting with the top of your cheekbone on the left side of your nose.

 

You choked on phlegm and hunched over. You moved to rub your cheekbone, but the handcuffs kept you still. Keeping your head low, you raised an eyebrow at Haz. He could’ve broken your nose if he’d wanted to, so why didn’t he? He ducked his head and bit the inside of his cheek. Oh, fuck off, then.

Haz swung around for Tom’s next order, but Tom sat on his desk with his elbows on his knees, eyes wide as he clutched the cigarette to his mouth. His chest heaved, and a couple of files were strewn across the floor, like they’d been knocked off.

 

“Tom,” said Harrison, “What’s wrong?”

 

Tom took a deliberately slow breath before answering. “Changed my mind, Haz. Get out of here. I want to deal with this one personally.”

 

Stowing his gun away, Harrison nodded curtly before leaving without a second glance.

 

The moment the door closed, Tom strode over to you and tilted your chin up with his thumb. “Who else is involved in this? With you?”

 

“No one,” you said, trying and failing to edge backwards when he moved to stand between your legs. His grip on the back of your chair kept you close to him.

 

“No one? Not even among my own men?”

 

“Not here. Fletcher, of course, and Owen, over at Briston. Only they knew,” you said, and your voice caught in your throat for the first time: Tom was rubbing his thumb across your lower lip. “Come off of it, Tom; what’re you doing?”

 

He shook his head very slightly and inched his fingers from your mouth down your neck. He pinched the spot where your collarbones dipped and pulled the skin as far as he could before letting it snap back. His fingers lightly moved back up your throat and squeezed it briefly.

 

“Tom—” He could feel your vocal chords vibrate under his touch. “Tom, you’re scaring me.”

 

“About time,” he said under his breath, dragging his finger along the edge of your collar. “Do you remember the night you were inducted? When Harrison put the .38 and his stiletto in front of you, what did he say?”

 

“ _You live by the gun and knife and die by the gun and knife_.”

 

“And this.” Tom tucked his cigarette under his index finger like a pencil, and his other hand released your chair to unbutton the first on your blouse. “You promised to do whatever I said. To not break the rules. You pricked your finger and let the blood coat that picture of St. Peter, and from that moment, you were mine.” Tom’s eyes flicked up to yours, and you squeezed your thighs around his on impulse (No! _Fuck,_ don’t do—).

 

“You knew that if you ever broke my rules, your soul was going to burn like that saint,” Tom said as he unclasped another button, the smoke rising into your face, “Though, I always figured you’d let me light the fuse. Let me get close to you before you smouldered away. Your brilliant mind never let you, darling, always wanting to keep your façade strong.” Two of his fingers edged over the curve of your breast. “Never wanting to break.”

 

Tom took a deep breath and held it, furrowing his brow. “But _damn_ it, sweetheart, you’re Peter at the fire,” he said, and he dug the lit end of his cigarette into the valley between your breasts, grinding it into your skin.

 

Swearing loudly, you kicked the inside of one of Tom’s knees and shoved yourself backwards, far enough that the chair fell on its back. Your arms throbbed at the impact, but you were able to loosen yourself and step backwards over the handcuffs; your hands were in front of you now (it bothered you how none of the others ever figured that out).

 

You turned to face Tom, who was clutching his chest and shaking out his other hand, the cigarette forgotten on the floor. No matter. You brought your elbow back before striking his ribcage as hard as you could, and— _fuck._

 

One: the handcuffs forced your other arm to follow the offensive one, and the metal of the handcuffs broke your skin. Two: pain erupted in your lower chest, like someone had hit you with a blunt object. Three: you dropped to your knees the same moment Tom did. Four: around Tom’s left wrist was a tight ring of blood beginning to seep down his hand, exactly like the ring on your wrist.

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“No fuckin’ way.” Grunting, you elbowed Tom again, this time on the underside of his chin. You felt the jolt on your skin, but it didn’t stop you from knocking him flat, straddling him, and forcing the handcuff chain to his throat until the skin around it turned a ghostly white.

 

You were breathing shallowly in an attempt to get in any air, and Tom was doing the same, his hands lying in surrender on either side of his head. You could feel the chain cutting into your own neck, but you wouldn’t give. Not until he—

 

“I think this is one kink we’ve got to rule out, darling,” Tom managed to choke out, and you pulled the chain away and slid off his chest. Fucking hell. Not now.

 

“Can’t believe we’re fuckin’ soulmates,” you said, sitting up and leaning against the desk. Tom followed suit and sat close enough to you for your thighs to touch. At this, you brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. “Funny how if we hadn’t been trying to protect each other, we would have found out sooner.” You put your chin on your knees. “You _were_ trying to protect me, right?”

 

“‘Course I was,” Tom said, and he delicately traced over his left cheekbone. “Couldn’t let anyone lay a hand on you. Is anything broken?”

 

“You tell me,” you said, and you lightly pressed against your mirroring cheekbone. Both of you inhaled sharply. “Maybe that’s fractured.”

 

“Our ribs are okay, just bruised,” said Tom, shaking his head, “ _Damn_. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate. I hoped I didn’t.”

 

Dabbing at the blood on your wrist with the cuff of your sleeve, you cleared your throat. “Why’s that?”

 

“I assumed you’d already met yours.”

 

Blood seeped through the fabric. “Excuse me?”

 

“You never gave me a second glance, sweetheart, and every other woman I’ve come across, with a soulmate or without, is wrapped around my finger, should I want her to be. You were unbreakable,” said Tom, tightening the strap on his rolex, “I presumed that kind of peace could only come with having met your other half.” He shifted to face you, and with raised eyebrows, he waited to take your hand. You nodded, and he produced a handkerchief from his pocket to clean the remaining blood. “It was torture, watching you every day,” he said, sliding his thumb across the cut, “Cool and collected, professional as hell. Everything you wrote up solid without a single loophole. Scariest woman I’d ever seen.”

 

He had scars on the backs of his hands, scars that mimicked the ones on your own that had popped up out of nowhere one day. “You were scared of me?”

 

“A bit, yeah,” Tom said, “Knew you could rip me apart given the chance. Part of me wanted you to.” He tied the handkerchief around your wrist and pulled the knot tightly. “The other part wanted to hear you come undone underneath me with my mouth on your pretty neck.”

 

Instinctively, you flinched, but Tom laced his fingers between yours and squeezed your hand. It took you a moment before you squeezed back, and you sighed, slumping a few inches down against the desk.

 

“It got worse, love. It wasn’t just _wanting_ you; I wanted _you._ I started seeing you everywhere,” said Tom, “and thinking how much better things could be if you were there with me. If you’d woken with me in the morning, if you’d spent the late nights with me outside of work. I want to hear your laugh muffled into my shoulder, and I want to be the cause of it. Can’t get you out of my head, darling. So you understand how much your betrayal affects me.”

 

“Tom, fuck, Tom, I’m sorry.” You moved to sit on your knees, and Tom went ahead and pulled you onto his lap. You hesitated, but at the flash of his eyebrows, you curled your fingers into his hair. He closed his eyes at your touch. “I admit part of the reason I wanted Adams to lose was so you could stop worrying about him and about that part of your life.”

 

“And for Fletcher to reunite those families,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours.

 

“And for Fletcher to—yeah,” you said, “And the pollution bit, that pisses me off. And the fucking legal plunder and cronyism-slash-nepotism; the fuck’s wrong with people? Fuck. It’s just that—you’ve been in this your whole life. You didn’t have a choice; it’s how it’s always been for you. I thought if people with an _ounce_ of sense who could _think_ for themselves for once—”

 

“Calm down, darling.”

 

“Yeah,” you said, and you closed your eyes. “I wanted to lift your burden so that you could ease on out of the mob. To give you a choice.”

 

“You can still do that.” Tom raised his hands to cup your cheeks, careful of your cheekbone. “You can lift the burden by bearing it with me. Talking it out every step of the way. Hearing each other out. You and I don’t have to have our walls up anymore. We can be soft,” he said, running his thumb over your good cheekbone, “just for each other.”

 

“I’d like that,” you said, and the second you did, Tom was standing and helping you up with him.

 

“Good. Fucking perfect.” Tom was pulling you by the hand to door. “We’ve got a lot of work to do to get Fletcher in office, but Haz is going to have to start without us.”

 

“Hm? Where are we going?” You stopped his hand from turning the doorknob and put a hand on the back of his neck to kiss the corner of his mouth.

 

Tom cracked a smile and drew your lips to his before you could fully back away. “Home,” he said once you stopped to catch your breath, “After all this time, I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you.”

**Author's Note:**

> y'all hmu if you know how politics work


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